Red Room
by Commodore Norrington
Summary: During a routine trade negotiation, the team runs afoul of the natives and are subjected to their correctional facility: a mysterious and dangerous Cube.
1. Red Room

It had been a perfectly routine trade negotiation, right up to the point where it...wasn't. Elizabeth had come with Colonel Sheppard's team on their second visit to M2X-823, after their first had established the Grotebroers as an advanced but peaceful people willing to trade industrial goods, like steel, for the promise of support against the Wraith. Pleased that the tribe was asking for alliance rather than hard weapons, for the Genii had made them wary of even seemingly innocent requests, Elizabeth agreed to go along and officially preside over the negotiations.

The Guardian, who seemed to be a sort of benevolent dictator, met them in his chambers. Elizabeth was fascinated by the architecture of the place, the harsh austerity somehow beautiful in its asceticism. There didn't seem to be a curved line anywhere; it was all corners, angles, squares, cubes, tetragons, blocks. And their technology was quite impressive, as well: doors were mounted on hydraulics, opening with sterile hisses, and elevator-like boxcars moved along tracks, not only vertically but horizontally also. It did, like many high-tech societies, have that slightly cold feel to it, as if controlled by something mechanically inhuman. Elizabeth had to admit she was not altogether comfortable here, unique architecture notwithstanding, but these people were offering something they needed -- perhaps not desperately, but at least a great deal.

The negotiations proceeded easily, Elizabeth growing more comfortable as she settled into her niche. This was what she did, this was what she was good at. The Guardian, for his part, seemed equally at ease. They traded niceties and light jokes while hammering out the contract, and Elizabeth was feeling more hopeful than she had allowed herself to feel for several months.

It was during a break in the formalities that things began to go wrong. Elizabeth had gone for a walk through the Grotebroers' capital city to stretch her legs and further admire the curious architecture. Rodney followed her, marveling more vocally at the geometric nature of the place. One of the Grotebroers' scientists followed a half-step behind him, quietly pointing out the things Rodney missed in his effusive enthusiasm.

"This is amazing," Rodney raved, goggling at the extraordinarily precise construction of two identical buildings.

"We use mathematical principles to build our edifices," the Grotebroer scientist, Dr. Alderson, intoned. "They are both structurally sound and aesthetically pleasing. The height is relative to the width and depth by a ratio of approximately 1.618."

McKay stared at him. "The Golden Ratio," he breathed, gazing at the buildings again. "Of course! All of them are built this way?"

"Yes," the scientist nodded. "Uniformity is highly prized among our people."

"The buildings are all different sizes, though," McKay noted, turning in a circle to illustrate his point.

"That is true," Alderson acknowledged. "However, each demarcated block of space has the same number of buildings within it and, furthermore, the same distribution of buildings. In effect, each block is identical."

"How many buildings in each block?" McKay asked absently.

"Seventeen," the Grotebroer replied automatically. "Seven industrial centers, three commercial outlets, two community buildings, and five residential dwellings."

"Hmm," McKay replied, apparently counting the buildings in the nearest block. "Wait," he said suddenly, snapping his fingers, "those are all prime numbers!"

"We call them _eerste_," the scientist corrected, nevertheless looking moderately impressed. "They, too, are highly valued in our society."

"What other applications have you found for them?" McKay asked eagerly.

"Many," Alderson answered vaguely.

"Yes, but," McKay pressed, oblivious to the guarded look that had suddenly come over the Grotebroer's face, "what kind? I mean, we use them in cryptography; do you have anything like that here? You don't seem to have political enemies; what need would you have for encryption? I haven't seen any computers; do you use hash tables? And pseudoran--"

Elizabeth had no doubt Rodney could go on all day about prime numbers, but he was cut off just then by a ghastly scream that emanated from a nearby building. It was muffled by the metal wall but there was little mistaking the anguish it held. It seemed to go on and on, too, echoing within the metal box and taking on a decidedly eerie, animalian quality. Elizabeth was so horrified by the sound that she didn't notice what Rodney immediately questioned.

"Why is that building different?" he asked, the enthusiasm mostly gone from his voice.

"It is a...correctional facility," the Grotebroer answered stiffly, turning abruptly on his heel. "It is time to return to the Guardian's chambers."

"A correctional facility?" Elizabeth repeated incredulously. "What type of 'correction' was that, exactly?"

"Madam," Alderson replied icily, "our customs are not your own. What we do with our prisoners is our business."

"Well," Elizabeth rejoined, keeping her tone civil, "I, for one, would like to know what type of people we are promising to support. And, frankly, just how these 'industrial goods' you're giving us are made. You understand our caution, of course; we've been betrayed before."

The scientist gave her a long, calculating look. "It is the Guardian's place to tell you," he sighed.

-----

"I am terribly sorry you had to experience that, Dr. Weir," the Guardian apologized. "Alderson should not have taken you that way. But, since you have, I assure you," he smiled warmly, "the Cube is reserved for only our vilest offenders and is quite a reasonable punishment for their crimes."

"Yes," Elizabeth frowned. "Unfortunately, we've heard that before as well."

"What do you want from us, Doctor?" he asked, affecting a burdened tone.

"I would like to see this facility for myself," Elizabeth requested, though it was clear from her own tone that it was no request. "Along with my colleagues," because she was not stupid, "so that we may determine whether or not we want to do business with you."

The Guardian hesitated briefly, then nodded. "All right. Alderson will be your guide."

Elizabeth wondered if she had imagined the brief look of terror that crossed Alderson's face at those words. She must have, for the next moment the look was gone and Alderson was inclining his head respectfully towards the Guardian.

"Please," he smiled tightly, "follow me."

-----

The door to the 'correctional facility' was opened by means of a strange, spinning handle; like all Grotebroer doors, it hissed faintly as it slid out of its socket. The six of them clambered inside, Colonel Sheppard giving Rodney a boost up, and the door shut automatically behind them with an ominous _clunk_. Alderson gazed at the small room they now found themselves in with, there was no denying it now, utter horror.

"This is...weird," Sheppard commented, breaking the apprehensive silence. He was, of course, correct. The room was unlike any Elizabeth had ever seen. The walls were emanating a garish red light, and were covered in strange designs that reflected the Grotebroers' love of geometry. There was a door in each wall, identical to the one they had just come through, and one on the floor and ceiling. The effect was dizzying; it was only for gravity that they could determine which wall was the floor.

Elizabeth expected Rodney to return Sheppard's observation with an acerbic remark, something along the lines of, "Thank you, Captain Obvious." When he didn't, she turned to look at him, curious as to what could strike the loquacious Rodney McKay dumb. To her alarm, she found him wearing a very similar expression to Alderson's.

"Rodney," she called softly, her voice heavy with worry. "What's wrong?"

"We have to get out of here," he said tightly, scrambling even as he spoke for the door. He never made it. A sudden jolt knocked all of them to their knees, painfully, and the room started moving upwards very quickly. It stopped as quickly as it had begun, then rocketed horizontally for several seconds. When it finally jerked to a halt -- Elizabeth waited to stand up until she was positive it had stopped completely -- the Atlantis team shakily got to their feet, exchanging mutual looks of confusion and fear.

Alderson, on the other hand, went ballistic. Elizabeth feared for their safety as the Grotebroer started screaming bloody murder, pounding on the walls and spinning all the door handles. Sheppard stepped in to stop him, receiving a blow to the face that knocked him off balance. Before Ronon could immobilize the surprisingly strong little scientist, he had opened the door in the floor and jumped through with a suicidal yell. Rushing to the hole, the Atlantis team saw him hit the floor of the room below -- identical to the one they were in, except the walls were an off-white color -- with a sickening thud. He lay sprawled over the door handle, but still appeared to be breathing.

"Colonel Sheppard," Elizabeth started, slipping back into her leadership role. "Can you get down there?"

"I think so," he answered, taking in the room with a critical eye. "There're rungs all along the walls; I can probably climb--"

"No!" Elizabeth turned, surprised to find Rodney the source of the almost hysterical outburst. "We shouldn't move," he explained, slightly calmer. "It's too dangerous."

"Don't worry, McKay," Sheppard reassured him. "These ladder things look perfectly safe. And it's not that bad a fall, especially if you land on your feet."

"No," Rodney replied, shaking his head slowly, "that's not it."

"Rodney," Elizabeth stepped toward him, "what aren't you telling us? What do you know?"

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I -- I've been here before." He seemed to anticipate the outbursts of "What?" "When?" and "How?" from the rest of them, and held up his hand in a defensive gesture. "Not...here, here," he clarified badly. "But this place, it's, it's really...familiar. Almost like I dreamed it once, or...something; I don't know. But it's dangerous."

"Dangerous, how?" Ronon spoke up for the first time, fixing McKay with a look that suggested he was not happy being trapped in a box, especially if McKay could have warned them before.

"I don't know!" Rodney shouted frustratedly. "It's more like a, a feeling. And I know how stupid that sounds," he added, precluding the raised eyebrows all around. "Believe me, I would love to explain it more scientifically."

"Should we not try to find a way out, though?" Teyla asked, keeping her tone reasonable.

"Oh, yes," Rodney snapped. "Let's wander around inside a gigantic box looking for the door! It probably has a nice, glowing exit sign over it, too, so we'll be sure not to miss it. Because tyrants _usually_ throw their prisoners into giant metal boxes they can easily escape from!" He was breathing hard by the end of his little tirade but appeared ready to continue.

Elizabeth stepped in. "All right, Rodney," she soothed. "I think we all need to calm down. At the very least, let's get out of this red light. It's giving me a headache."

"Don't you get it?" he pleaded. "We came into this room. We know it connects to the outside. We don't know that about any of the other rooms! We don't even know how many there are! We will get lost in there, Elizabeth. We will get lost in this colossal maze and starve to death."

His grim pronouncement was met with the bleak stares of four people who knew he was absolutely right, as usual, but could not bring themselves to face that dire future. With a determined optimism, or at least less pessimism than McKay, Elizabeth clung to something he had not even realized he'd said.

"Can we find out how many rooms there are?" she asked.

"What?" Rodney blinked, distracted from his gloomy sentiments. "From inside?"

"We can measure the one we're in," she reasoned. "How big d'you figure the outside is?"

"The outside?" Rodney repeated, slowly understanding her idea. "It's hard to say; I only saw it for a few minutes. But, I don't know, about 400 feet cubed?"

Elizabeth nodded slowly. "Okay. This room," she paced across it, "is fourteen feet wide. So, how many rooms are there?"

"Well, it's only an estimate," Rodney cautioned, waving his hand slightly. "I mean, there's no way to know for sure. Besides, we don't even know if this thing is filled with the little cubes; there could be spaces. In fact, there'd have to be in order for them to move ar--"

"Rodney."

"About 17,000." A stunned silence struck the group as each processed the enormity of the number.

"Well, then, we'd better get moving," Sheppard remarked with a false cheeriness.

"Haven't you been listening to a word I've been saying?" McKay fumed. "That is not a good idea!"

"I got that, McKay," Sheppard growled. "But I am not about to sit here on my ass doing nothing. Maybe there's another way out; maybe there's someone else in here who can help us. I'm going," he resolved firmly.

"Well, you shouldn't go alone," Elizabeth cautioned, torn between heeding Rodney's reasonable warnings and following John's call to action.

"I'll go," Ronon volunteered.

Rodney snorted. "Why am I not surprised," he muttered.

"We should stay together," Teyla pointed out. "Our chances of survival are greater with five than with two."

"She has a point," Elizabeth conceded. "Rodney?"

"I reserve the right to say 'I told you so,'" he sighed. No one else heard him whisper, "I hope I live to."

"Great," Sheppard clapped his hands and rubbed them together, still maintaining that phony enthusiasm that was fooling no one. "I'll go first." He spun the nearest door handle, the one opposite the wall they had come in from, and pulled open the door. The adjacent room was green. He cautiously climbed the small, ladder-like rungs along the side of the door and swung his legs into the passageway between them.

"Colonel Sheppard," Rodney called suddenly, nervously.

"Yes, Rodney?" Sheppard indulged him.

"Just...be careful," Rodney warned, eyebrows knitting together worriedly. The expression that was so un-McKay was mirrored on Elizabeth and Teyla's faces, Ronon's gaze as inscrutable as ever.

"Yeah," Sheppard replied, nodding shortly. "Will do." He slowly slid into the green room and jumped to the floor, freezing in place and quickly taking in the room. After several seconds of nothing, he straightened and called, "Seems safe in here."

The rest of the team climbed through the passage promptly, eager to escape the maddening blood-red of the previous room. Sheppard, confidence boosted by the lack of anything insidious in the room, crossed right away to the opposite wall. Twisting open the door, he peered warily into the next room. It was white, like the one Alderson had jumped into, and there didn't seem to be anything inside it, either.

"Here I go," he whooped, leaping in. For a few blissful seconds, it seemed that this room was perfectly safe, too. Then, suddenly, McKay screamed,

"Get out of there! Now!"

Sheppard, unused to the desperately commanding tone of McKay's voice, reacted instinctively. Springing backwards, he scrabbled for a handhold on the wall he had just come through, trying to pull himself away from whatever it was McKay had seen. He felt something graze his pants leg as he crawled back through the passageway and, moments later, a searing pain shot through his leg.

"Aggh!" he groaned, clutching his deeply cut calf. "What the hell was that?"

"I don't know," McKay mumbled miserably as Teyla saw to Sheppard's leg. "It was some kind of, of, of trap. A wire...wire..."

"Sushi machine?" Sheppard supplied, gritting his teeth.

"Descriptive," McKay acknowledged.

"If there's one trap," Elizabeth reasoned, "there are probably more."

"It stands to reason, yes," Rodney agreed.

"This isn't going to be easy," she continued grimly, stating the obvious.

"No," Rodney shook his head. "It's not."


	2. Green Room

A/N: Wow! So sorry it's taken this long to update. My muse ran off shortly after completing the last chapter and isn't being very cooperative even now. It may be a little while before the next chapter, too, though I do hope not as long as before.

Warning: This chapter does have some pretty graphic descriptions. I think it's still within the T range, but the squeamish may want to turn back.

* * *

Rodney sank to the ground, exhausted. The room they now found themselves in was green, a naturally soothing color, and there was a unanimous, silent agreement to rest briefly in this relatively safe place. It had been just over five hours, but it felt like days. They were all hot: Teyla, McKay, and Elizabeth had shed their Atlantis jackets and tied them around their waists; Sheppard's was missing a sleeve, which had been fashioned into a makeshift bandage for his leg; Ronon had rolled his long coat into a pack which could be tied to his back. All but Sheppard were missing at least one boot; their footwear had been sacrificed to the various traps along the way. The team had agreed that climbing around the Cube unshod would be detrimental to Sheppard's wounded leg. Their shirts were soaked with sweat and stuck to their bodies uncomfortably. 

"Is anyone else thirsty?" Elizabeth asked, knowing the answer. Three pairs of eyes met hers (Rodney was still slumped in his corner) with a quiet longing. She didn't know why she had asked the question; there was nothing she could do to fill their need, or her own. As a leader, she was helpless in here. She was failing.

"Buttons," came a weary voice from the corner. The four turned toward Rodney, undoubtedly the worst off of the team. His eyes, sunken in his pale face, were rimmed by dark circles. His right arm sported a good-sized burn from one of the earliest traps; the boot throwing technique had taken several tries to perfect.

"What?" Ronon asked the question on all their minds. Rodney had the advantage (or the great disadvantage, Elizabeth thought) of somehow knowing more about this place than any of them, but he was reluctant to say anything straighforwardly. Ronon especially was having difficulty with the scientist's cryptic statements.

"Tear a button off your pants and suck on it," Rodney explained, sticking out his tongue to demonstrate. "It keeps the saliva flowing and slows down dehydration."

"You couldn't've told us this earlier?" Sheppard grumbled loudly, ripping a button from his pants as Rodney had suggested. Elizabeth, too, was a slightly annoyed at Rodney for not divulging this helpful information before, but she tried to suppress her dissonant feelings. They had to stick together.

-----

Teyla, uneasy in this confined area, had wandered over to one of the doors in the wall. She spun the handle, intending to open the room a bit more and give at least the illusion of more space. She leaned into the hatchway but not too far; they had encountered too many grisly traps -- and their aftermaths -- for her to believe anything outside their immediate area was safe. She shuddered as she recalled the man without a face in the orange room, dressed in the baggy brown uniform all the Grotebroers wore. His name, stitched above his left breast, had read _RENNES_. Even worse had been the other straw-colored room they had peered into, seeing only what appeared to be a pile of meat. Dr. Weir had commented that it looked something like dog food and that perhaps it was sustenance provided by their captors. They had all been reluctant to eat the meat raw, of course, but willing...until Colonel Sheppard had noticed one cube of bloody tissue which had fallen somewhat closer to the room they were looking from. Covering one side of the chunk of meat was a small piece of bloodstained brown cloth, the letters _LDER_ barely legible under the gore. Dr. McKay had vomited and the entire team had grown significantly more somber.

Now Teyla was relieved to be gazing into a completely empty blue room. She had a natural aversion to the red rooms; they all did, really. Red was the color of danger, of death. The pale orange, straw-colored rooms were more bearable, but these she feared because of the mutilated bodies they had found. The white rooms had held traps only intermittently, but the early horror of Colonel Sheppard's injury would not soon be forgotten. Green seemed to be a safe color, so far; they had not yet found a trap in a green room. Blue, however, was Teyla's favorite-colored room. Though several blue rooms had held traps, she still found the cool color soothing to her raw nerves. She leaned closer to the blue.

Her fingers brushed something on the floor of the hatchway. Looking down, she noticed numbers etched into the doorway in three sets of three. Puzzled, she turned to the one person who might be able to make sense of them.

"Dr. McKay," she called. There was a sound like a hundred men unsheathing swords at the same time. Turning back toward the blue room, she found it bristling with sharp knives protruding from every wall.

"Sound activated," Colonel Sheppard muttered as Dr. McKay looked up.

"Dr. McKay," Teyla repeated, more softly, "there are numbers in this doorway."

"Numbers?" he questioned dully. He was losing heart, she saw.

"Nine numbers, in three groups of three," she reported. "They are on the door of the next room, as well. Perhaps they indicate some sort of room number?"

"There's only 17,000 some rooms," McKay reminded her. "Any room designations would be five digits, not nine. Maybe they're phone numbers," he suggested wryly, though there was no humor in his voice.

Sheppard, anxious to be doing something, strode over to Teyla to take a look. His lips moved faintly as he recited the numbers silently to himself. "Hey, McKay!" he called suddenly, re-activating the previously retracted knives in the next room. "Come tell me if I'm right; I think these are all prime numbers."

"What's the point?" McKay asked tiredly.

"The point is, maybe it means something," Sheppard growled. Tempers were wearing thin in the close quarters of the Cube. "Maybe it can help us get out of here."

"And maybe the Grotebroers just like prime numbers," McKay retorted. "Maybes won't get us anywhere, Colonel."

"What the hell's your problem, McKay?" Sheppard all but shouted. "We're all in this freakin' rat maze together; the least you could do is try to help us get out! You always give up too easy. Come on! Get over here and do something for a change!"

Elizabeth was alarmed by the nasty snarl in Sheppard's voice. He was deteriorating just as quickly as Rodney, only in a different direction. She was reminded, unpleasantly, of his brief brush with Wraith-hood last year. His current downward spiral was eerily similar. She was equally alarmed by Rodney's hopelessness, though. The scientist was prone to pessimism, it was true, but he would always -- always -- continue searching for a solution to whatever problem came their way. This defeatism was scary in him.

They were all coming apart. If they didn't escape soon, there would be no hope for them.


	3. White Room

A/N: Many, many apologies for the long wait. I honestly had no idea what to do with the story. The good news is, it's all written now! No more year-long waits for the next chapter. Thanks to the-bookworm-princess for the beta on these last chapters. Thanks to mari4212 for the beta on chapter 2, since I don't think I thanked her on that chapter.

* * *

They had just stepped warily into a white room – their thousandth room, Rodney informed them with a dull sort of pride – and were restlessly taking their positions at the various doors to examine the next rooms. They had a system by this time. Each room was deemed safe or unsafe by Rodney's number system, which he had worked out with the aid of Colonel Sheppard and had something to do with prime numbers, but Elizabeth didn't understand much beyond that. If a room was deemed safe, they would double check it with a boot – though their supply was dwindling and Elizabeth feared for the moment they ran out. They took turns being first into a room, holding their collective breath until their point person had successfully breached the room without harm. Then they would all file through and each take a door: Colonel Sheppard, the door straight across from the entrance; Teyla and Elizabeth, the doors to either side; Rodney, the door in the floor; and, if necessary, Ronon would climb up to check the ceiling door. It worked, their system, and their morale, while still low, was at least not falling as they occupied themselves with this routine. Elizabeth couldn't help but think of their first few days in Atlantis, when every new corner was unknown and a potential danger. 

Elizabeth scooted herself into the white room and walked slowly to her door. She could hear Teyla and John doing the same, Rodney following them to check their numbers before examining his own door. Ronon stood by the entrance, scowling. Elizabeth twirled the handle of her door, hoping against hope that any moment now they would get to the edge of this horrific jail and manage to find a way out. Her hope sank with the sliding door as the widening gap above it revealed a sickening orange color and she knew there was only another room beyond this one. Sighing, she propped the door open with a boot and turned to see if the others had had better luck.

It appeared Teyla might have. The boys were clustering around her, moving in that slow shuffle they had all developed, stemming from both dejection and exhaustion. Elizabeth moved toward Teyla's door as well, trying to see what they were all looking at. The light coming from beyond the door was bright and decidedly un-colored, but that in itself wasn't too unusual. As far as they could tell, there were only five different colors of room, so there was often a connecting room the same color as the one they were in. It was a moment before Elizabeth could get in front of Ronon to see what everyone was staring at.

It was…nothing. There was no room there, only an empty whiteness. It was cube-shaped and had a square hole in each wall that was probably the back of a door, but there were no strange geometric patterns on the wall, no colored lighting, no handles on the doors. Elizabeth poked her head further through the door, twisting to see the whole not-room. She gasped as she looked up. The bright emptiness continued upwards for several stories, marked only by the square door-holes every fourteen feet and by odd grooves in the walls that resembled…tracks? Elizabeth remembered when they had first entered the Cube and their room had rocketed rapidly upwards and then sideways.

Rodney had had the same thought. "So that's how they move," he pointed out, curiosity and interest and…hope? momentarily overcoming his despair. "Like a giant puzzle. You know those sliding puzzles where you have to move the pieces around different ways to make the picture?"

"What are you talking about, McKay?" Ronon growled. His temper was on an ever-shortening fuse and Elizabeth feared anything might tip him over the edge soon. "Talk so we can _all_," he gestured meaningly at himself and Teyla, "understand you."

Rodney appeared to be recovering rapidly in his excitement. Unfortunately, this improvement rendered him his usual sarcastic self and he shot back, "That might take a while, you overgrown ape, and we don't have time for that."

Ronon's eyes flashed and he made a lunging movement toward Rodney. Elizabeth jumped in front of him as Rodney squealed and ducked.

"Ronon! Come on," she tried to soothe him. "We're all a little overwrought right now. Let's just calm down and," she glanced sideways at Rodney, "try not to provoke each other."

"Rodney's just being a jackass like usual," John piped up, slapping Ronon on the shoulder. "The best thing to do is just ignore him."

"Excuse me?" Rodney scowled indignantly.

"You know it's true," John fired back, stepping away from Ronon to square off with Rodney.

"Listen, Sheppard," Rodney spat, "I don't give a sh–"

"BOYS!" Elizabeth shouted, moving to intercede before this got really nasty. "Teyla, a little help here?"

Teyla frowned. "I am offended by Dr. McKay's insensitivity," she shrugged, "and your apparent prejudice against peoples other than your own."

"What?" Elizabeth couldn't believe it. This was turning into a bad comedy, only it wasn't remotely funny. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't talk to Teyla like that," Ronon re-entered the fray, arms crossed menacingly as he considered the smaller woman.

It was then that Elizabeth knew things were about to go terribly, terribly wrong. Time seemed to slow as, out of the corner of her eye, she saw John make a move towards Rodney, their argument having escalated despite her efforts. Forgetting Ronon and Teyla for the moment, she lunged for John and caught him by the shirtsleeve in an attempt to stop him doing something he'd regret. Lost in his anger, he tore his arm from her grasp and swung it toward her violently. Her eyes widened and she thought she might have screamed as she watched his arm coming at her in slow motion. She couldn't move; she stood rooted to the spot until the back of his forearm connected with her jaw and she felt herself falling as pain exploded in her head. She thought she heard Rodney scream and the other three yelling in a confused tangle of voices before the pain overcame her and she slipped into oblivion.

She awoke to a blinding headache that was not helped by the white light glaring into her eyes from the floor. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, listening to see what the others were up to. She heard nothing but her own labored breathing and blood pounding in her ears. Curious – and frightened – she forced her eyes open again and managed, painfully, to sit up. She was completely alone.

She bit back a scream and squeezed her eyes shut again against the rising tears. She needed to stay calm, to think her way out of this situation. She couldn't dwell on the fact that she was now alone in this death trap, abandoned by people she'd thought were her friends, left to die, discarded like so much trash, alone, abandoned, left, discarded, alone, abandoned, die, discarded, abandoned, alone…

She panicked. The pain in her head vanishing in a surge of adrenaline, she staggered to her feet and ran at the nearest door, pounding on it vainly before she remembered to twirl the handle. Blinded by her primal need to escape, to find others, she didn't even notice that she had chosen the door into the empty space, the not-room. She ran across it to another door, pounding furiously with her fists against the handle-less steel. She repeated her futile attack on each door in the walls, then the one on the floor, before turning back to the one she had entered through just as it timed out and hissed shut. It took her fully ten seconds to comprehend just what that meant: she was trapped, truly trapped, now. There were no handles on this side of the doors. There was no way out of here.

She screamed, not in panic or fear or anger, but simple, ancient despair. She was going to die, and she knew it. There would be no last-minute escape, no desperate plan of Rodney's to rescue her. This was the end.

She felt the rumbling before she heard it, and she realized quickly what it meant. Looking up, her suspicion was confirmed as she saw the dark bottom of a room descending rapidly towards her, dimming the light as it loomed ever closer. She briefly wondered if she could squeeze into the door hole in the floor, if that would save her, before realizing she didn't want to be saved. She didn't want to be strung along in this rat maze, as John had called it, until she died of dehydration. She didn't want to wander alone through the massive prison, be killed slowly by some sadistic grisly booby trap. If she was going to die – and she had already realized she would – she would rather it be on her own terms.

She lay down on the flattest part of the not-room and smiled slightly as she waited for death.

* * *

Rodney had not wanted to leave Elizabeth. It didn't seem right. She was their leader, after all, and, he had to admit, something of a friend. Besides, leaving anyone in this wretched place all alone seemed horribly cruel at the least and possibly even tantamount to murder. He wouldn't have wished it on Kavanagh, let alone Elizabeth.

But the others had insisted. They said she would simply slow them down, that trying to carry her or support her would only endanger her – and them – even more. Her neck might have been injured and they shouldn't try to move her, Sheppard had reasoned, and besides, they knew the white room they had left her in was safe; if they got out of the damn Cube, they could bring help and come back for her. Rodney didn't want to be on the receiving end of Sheppard's – or Ronon's – temper again, so he didn't say that Elizabeth wouldn't likely stay in one place once she woke up, nor that it would be almost impossible to find her again even if they did come back for her, which he doubted. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, though, because Ronon had growled, "If you want her along, then _you_ carry her."

Rodney had tried. He really had. But Elizabeth had a couple of inches and quite a bit of muscle on him and he hadn't been able to get her even to the door, let alone through it. He had considered staying with her, thinking that at best they could manage to get out themselves and at worst at least they wouldn't die alone, but he had opened his big mouth once too often and the others wouldn't leave him behind.

It was the damn numbers that did it. He just couldn't resist playing with numbers, even when he was about to die in a stupid, sadistic torture chamber of a prison. Sheppard had figured out the prime number thing, though Rodney had refined it when he realized the key was powers of a prime. He had had a niggling feeling that that wasn't all the numbers did, however, but couldn't figure out what it was until Sheppard – quite unintentionally – gave him a clue.

"Hell is other people," Sheppard had muttered as they argued over what to do with Elizabeth.

"What?" Ronon grunted, typically frustrated by the Earth references Rodney and Sheppard were prone to using.

"It's a quote," Sheppard explained, his speech slurred slightly by the button he was sucking on. "From a play or something. By a French guy. Descartes, I think."

"Sartre," Rodney corrected him automatically from his slumped position on the floor. "Descartes wasn't a playwright; he was a mathematician." He blinked, sitting up straighter. "Descartes. Maybe…"

"What the hell is it now, McKay?" Sheppard asked wearily.

"Descartes," Rodney repeated unhelpfully. "Cartesian coordinates. Obviously the Grotebroers wouldn't have known Descartes, but it's entirely possible they developed similar theories. After all, they have prime numbers. 'Ears,' or whatever they call them. The wheel was invented separately at least twice and probably more on Earth alone –"

"Shut the hell up and explain what the hell you're talking about or I'll throttle you," Sheppard threatened. Under normal circumstances, Rodney would have assumed he was teasing and said something along the lines of, "How am I supposed to explain what I'm talking about if I shut the hell up?" but after almost eight hours in this vile contraption, he wasn't sure what to make of Sheppard's state of mind.

He meekly explained, "Cartesian coordinates, like you learn in algebra. X, Y, and Zed axes. I _think_," he was careful to emphasize his uncertainty, "that maybe the numbers could tell us where we are in this thing."

"Numbers can tell you that?" Ronon asked, raising an eyebrow disbelievingly. Rodney didn't want to upset him with another 'overgrown ape' comment, so he settled for a curt nod.

"But the rooms are moving," Teyla pointed out. Rodney wasn't sure if he detected a slight triumph at the idea of stumping him behind her very reasonable comment. She was doing better than the rest of them for the most part, but she had taken Rodney's earlier comment quite badly and still hadn't forgiven him.

"It's just an idea, all right?" he exploded, though mildly compared to his usual legendary explosions. "Maybe they can at least tell us where the damn things _start_ in this maze. If we find one that connects to the outside, all we have to do is stay there until it moves back to its starting position."

"Or maybe," Sheppard drawled, "the numbers can tell us everywhere the room goes."

"What?" Ronon asked, at the same time as Teyla said, "How?"

"Permutations," Rodney and Sheppard had chorused, glaring at one another.

Rodney was jolted back to the present by Teyla tapping him on the shoulder. "Colonel Sheppard would like to know if you have factored the prime numbers yet," she said. Sheppard had stopped speaking to Rodney after they had left Elizabeth in the white room, whether from guilt or anger, Rodney wasn't sure.

"You can tell Colonel Sheppard," he replied loudly, disgusting himself by being reminded of his mother yelling at his father while ostensibly talking to Rodney, "that prime numbers don't factor; that's why they're prime. And factoring numbers this large, thank you _very_ much, takes time, even for a genius."

Sheppard opened his mouth to call something back when he was cut off by a faint, but very disturbing, scream. It was difficult to tell which direction had come from, but Rodney was fairly certain it emanated from the way they had come. He swallowed hard as he wondered what Elizabeth had felt upon waking up to find herself completely alone, what trap she had walked into in an effort to follow them. Guilt welled up inside him; he should have stayed with her, Ronon's threats and Sheppard's pleading notwithstanding. He had let his own needs supersede what he knew was right, just like he had with Gaul, just like he had with Project Arcturus. He was a coward and it had gotten someone killed again, only this time it was someone he really cared about.

Another thought crept into his head, unbidden and horribly unwelcome. _One down, four to go_, it said. Rodney shuddered.


	4. Blue Room

"This one's trapped, too," McKay sighed frustratedly, rising stiffly from his crouch by the door in the blue floor.

"You sure?" John asked, moving towards the square opening with their last remaining boot – even he had shed his by this point – and squinting appraisingly into the room below. "We could test it…"

"Yes, let's waste our last boot confirming that there is indeed a death trap down there," McKay scowled. "The numbers haven't been wrong yet," he continued, heat creeping into his voice. "Why would they start now? Or is it me you don't trust anymore? You think I'm slipping? You think I'm unreliable? You think maybe it starts with a math mistake, a little gap in my brain, but then the gap widens and I go completely batshit and kill you all? Is that what you think?"

John saw Teyla close her eyes and figured she expected him to engage McKay. Ronon apparently did, too; he unfolded his arms and took a step toward the pair, ready to separate them if they got physical, John supposed. He smirked and surprised them all – including himself, if he was honest – by just shaking his head.

"No, Rodney," he replied calmly. "I just don't want to backtrack."

McKay seemed to deflate slightly as he blinked and said, "Oh."

"What about the ceiling?" Ronon rumbled, and they all looked up.

McKay shrugged. "Read me the numbers." The words were barely out of his mouth before Ronon was climbing one of the ladders that lined the walls and swinging across the monkey bars toward the door. John knew the large man had been longing to do something useful.

There was a slight pause as Ronon considered how to open the door while dangling from the ceiling. He had just let go with his right hand and was reaching for the handle when it suddenly began spinning of its own accord. Startled, Ronon backed away from the door and re-attached his right hand to the monkey bars.

There was a kamikaze yell as the door slid open and a figure hurtled through the hole, feet first, landing in a crouch on the floor. It took John a few moments in the blue light – and the completely unexpected context – to recognize the young man straightening up and grinning widely.

"Ford?" John asked, incredulous. What the hell was he doing here?

"Sir?" Ford seemed equally surprised. He looked around the rest of the room, his grin fading and eyes widening with each new face. "McKay? Teyla?" He got to Ronon, who had climbed down and now stepped forward menacingly. "Ronon, right? What are you all doing here?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," John replied, keeping his tone light. "How'd you get off the hive ship? And, y'know, arrested on -823?"

"Is that what this one is? I've been calling it the Planet of the Blockheads," Ford grinned. "Get it? 'Cause they're so into blocks and stuff?"

"Yes, very clever," McKay scowled. "The question remains: how did you get here, whatever you want to call 'here'?"

"I was wandering, planet-hopping, y'know, looking for Wraith, harvesting the enzyme," Ford shrugged, though John saw a shadow flit through his eyes at the mention of his addiction. "Eventually I got here and, well, they're not too keen on strangers. Especially ones hopped up on Wraith-enzyme who rummage through their garbage for food. They arrested me," Ford stated simply. "Vagrancy, I think they called it. Anyway, they were going to chuck me in here right away but I was going through withdrawal by then and they figured I'd lay down and die before they had any fun." A rare scowl creased Ford's young features, quickly replaced by his usual easy grin. "They stuck me in their version of detox for a couple of weeks, that was pretty tough…"

McKay was looking at Ford with something like sympathy and John remembered the scientist's own struggle with coming down off the enzyme. Well, at least Rodney had gotten over the ordeal with Ford's little gang. Ronon looked like he was going to have a little more trouble and, honestly, John couldn't blame him. He wasn't sure how he felt about the young soldier anymore, either, though he was certainly easier to deal with now that he was off the enzyme. He wasn't his old self – he'd been through too much for that – but he was close enough.

"…after they thought I had enough will to live or whatever," Ford continued, "they shoved me through the door of this thing. I've been in here about a day, running through the rooms. It's been a trip, I'll tell you that." He grinned, slightly manic.

"How-how-how the _hell_ did you manage to stay alive?" McKay spluttered. "It took us three hours and most of our boots to figure out the prime number key and I know for a _fact_ that you couldn't tell a prime number if it slapped you in the face, let alone find prime factors of numbers this large!" He stopped, glaring at Ford as if daring him to disagree, chest heaving in his indignation.

"Numbers? What are you talking about?" Ford looked truly perplexed. "I ran into some booby traps, sure, but I managed to get out. Not without some marks for my trouble," he shrugged again, rolling up his sleeves to show them cuts and burns; a particularly nasty one on the back of his right hand that looked like someone had dripped lye on it made them all wince, "but nothing lethal."

"You have been very fortunate, Aiden," Teyla addressed him, and John noted the slight admonishment in her tone.

"Well, it hasn't been a cake walk," Ford acknowledged, "but it's been…interesting. Makes you feel alive, walking this close to death." There was that manic grin again.

"Are you insane?" McKay burst out, furious. Apparently he wasn't quite over being kidnapped and poisoned against his will, after all. "'Interesting'? This place is a sadistic torture chamber! People have _died_! _Elizabeth_ has died!"

Whether Rodney had calculated the comment to or not, it certainly wiped the grin off Ford's face. "Dr. Weir is dead?"

"We don't know that," John pointed out, earning raised eyebrows from Teyla and Ronon and an anguished glare from McKay.

"Speak for yourself," Rodney whispered, turning away.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Ford said, "I didn't know."

"Yeah, well, you can just be on your way now," Ronon rumbled from his corner. "Nice seeing you."

This earned the Satedan a bewildered, disbelieving stare from Ford, a warning glare from Teyla, and a scowl from John. Rodney wasn't looking at any of them.

"Ronon –" Teyla started.

"Have you forgotten what he did to us?" Ronon growled, eyes narrowing as he glared at Ford. "This guy almost got us killed with his crazy plan, and that was _after_ he kidnapped and drugged us. You really want to drag him along?"

It was the longest speech they had ever heard from Ronon. John was stunned; so too, it appeared, were Teyla and McKay. Ford was just frowning, though whether he was mad or hurt, John couldn't tell.

"We cannot just _leave_ him," Teyla tried reasonably.

"He's done fine so far," Ronon pointed out.

"He is our friend," Teyla pressed, "and whatever he may have done to us, he was not himself at the time."

Ronon snorted at that but there was little doubt that John and Rodney were siding with Teyla on this one. Ronon's gaze turned on each one of them in turn, McKay squirming slightly when he got to him, before settling on Ford and morphing into something like angry disgust. After a long, uncomfortable moment, the large man shrugged.

"Fine," he said evenly. The four let out the breath they hadn't known they'd been holding, but their relief was short-lived. "But I can't stay with him. Good luck."

Before they could react, he strode to the nearest door – apparently believing it to be the one they had come in through – and spun it open, jumping into the next room.

"Ronon, no!" McKay yelled, coming out of his stunned stupor and running toward the door. "It's trapped!"

"Seems fine to me, McKay," Ronon called back. He sniffed, running a finger under his nose to wipe away the dribbling mucus.

John's blood ran cold. Time slowed as he watched Ronon squint, as if he were having difficulty seeing the room, and then swipe his hand along his chin to clear the drool that was running from the corners of his mouth. Holding his breath instinctively, John leaped for the door and rammed it shut. He forced himself not to imagine what his teammate's – his friend's – body was going through right now as he turned to face Teyla, McKay, and Ford. They were staring at him in confusion that slowly turned to understanding and horror as they heard the unmistakable sound of retching from the other side of the door. Then came the pounding, desperate banging on the door which seemed to pierce John's chest with each impact. There would be no screaming, John knew. As the pounding weakened and finally stopped, John faced their accusing eyes.

"Sarin," he explained hoarsely. "Or their equivalent. I couldn't let us be exposed. There was nothing we could do for him, I swear."

"He's right," Ford piped up, and John half-wished he hadn't. He wasn't exactly Ronon's best friend; McKay and Teyla probably wouldn't believe much of what he said regarding Ronon's death. "We learned the symptoms in basic. How did you know so quickly, though, sir?"

"Iraq, '91," John said simply, not bothering to elaborate. Ford would understand; McKay would get enough to explain it to Teyla if she asked.

"Well," McKay cleared his throat after a long silence, injecting a very false business-as-usual tone into his voice, "if we're not going to backtrack, the only way out is up." He turned to Ford. "That room is safe, isn't it? By, you know, normal-people standards, not crazy-suicidal-Marine standards."

Ford gave him that manic grin again, slightly subdued now, and John realized the kid was glad to be back with them, however bizarre and dangerous the circumstances. "It's clean, McKay, don't worry."

"Well, then," McKay gestured toward the ceiling, "who wants to see what's behind Door Number Six?"


	5. Orange Room

Warning: More graphic images, folks. This one might well merit an M, so I've upped the rating on the whole fic accordingly.

* * *

Ford's presence brought a kind of renewed morale to the weary group. They were still exhausted, of course, still mourning Ronon and Elizabeth, still gripped with fear as they entered each new room, but there was a little less bickering as they made their way through the next couple of hours, and they were starting to feel like maybe they _could_ get out of this damnable place alive.

Rodney should have known it couldn't last.

As they made their way into an orange room, three hours after finding Ford and about thirteen since they had entered this nightmare, Sheppard held Rodney back while Ford and Teyla scrambled through the door.

"Keep an eye on Teyla," Sheppard muttered, so that Rodney could barely hear. "She's been making weird comments about us killing Elizabeth and Ronon. I don't think she'll try anything, but this place makes people kind of crazy."

Rodney swallowed and nodded his understanding before turning and crawling through the door. As if they didn't have enough to worry about between starvation and dehydration and the damn traps everywhere; they had to second-guess each other, too.

Rodney thought he was rather lucky, though, to be able to lose himself in the numbers. They required such concentration that he was largely able to block the others out, which was often a blessed relief. Soon forgetting Sheppard's warning in the warm glow of new numbers to chew on, he didn't hear the soft grunt and Sheppard's horrified yell. It was only when he turned around seconds later to announce that the next room was safe that he saw the gruesome tableau and let out a yell of his own, followed rapidly by crippling dry heaves.

Ford lay on the ground, eyes wide and staring, limbs twitching spasmodically as if he was trying to get up but the message wasn't quite getting through. A large pool of blood was forming around his head, flowing from a wound Rodney couldn't see. It took a moment for Rodney to realize that Ford's left eye, previously blackened by his enzyme overdose, was trickling blood down his youthful face. Ford's mouth opened and closed soundlessly – or Rodney thought it was soundless until he heard the faintest whisper emanating from the young Marine's lips.

"…wanna go back to the…blue room," Rodney heard before Ford's arms and legs stilled and his staring right eye went completely blank.

Unable to comprehend what had just happened, Rodney looked up at Sheppard but Sheppard's attention was elsewhere. Following the colonel's glare, Rodney almost started heaving again. Teyla stood over Ford, watching the boy with a mixture of anger, satisfaction, and fear marring her usually pretty face. Her right arm hung limply at her side, lightly gripping a long, sharp object that was dripping blood slowly onto Ford's leg. Rodney couldn't figure out what it was or how Teyla had gotten it, or hidden it.

"Teyla," Sheppard spoke up, doing a remarkable job of keeping his voice calm, "put it down. Just put the door handle down." Rodney looked again and sure enough, Teyla's 'sword' was one of the sharp-pointed spinning door handles.

"He was responsible for Ronon's death," Teyla said simply, calmly. Rodney couldn't believe it. _Teyla_. It defied logic.

"Teyla, Ronon chose to leave," Sheppard reminded her, his voice still even, but Rodney noticed that he was edging toward the door Rodney stood next to. "It wasn't Ford's fault the room was trapped."

"But Aiden's presence caused Ronon to leave," Teyla reasoned, as if explaining to a four-year-old why candy before dinner was not allowed. Her expression hardened. "Just as your actions caused Elizabeth to die."

"Open the door, McKay," Sheppard muttered out of the corner of his mouth. To Teyla, he replied, "I didn't mean for that to happen, Teyla, you know that."

Rodney tried to twirl the door handle without Teyla seeing, glad her attention seemed to be too focused on Sheppard to notice what he was doing. He held off on opening the door just yet, knowing there was no way they could avoid her seeing or hearing that.

"Then why did you leave her?" Teyla snarled, her face truly frightening now. Rodney had to admit he'd wondered the same thing, but faced with a choice between Sheppard – who hadn't _actually_ killed anyone – and Teyla – who had just stabbed Ford through the eye – he would side with Sheppard without too much thought. "You did not try to save Ronon, either," Teyla continued, her voice trembling as she raised the door handle.

"There was nothing I could do," Sheppard shouted, scrambling toward Rodney. "Go, McKay!"

Rodney wrenched the door open and jumped through it, running across to the opposite door without looking behind him. He trusted Sheppard to get through and shut the door on his own. Spinning open the next door, he started factoring as fast as he could, his brain clouded but shot full of adrenaline. He heard the door shut and chanced a look behind him; Sheppard was hanging on to the door handle for all he was worth, apparently struggling against Teyla's efforts to open it. Rodney thanked the stars that for all the advantages Teyla might have on Sheppard in a stick fight, Sheppard was still bigger and stronger.

"I can't hold her much longer," Sheppard grunted, heaving harder on the door handle. There was a snap and a clatter and a very loud "SHIT" and Rodney glanced behind again to see Sheppard scrambling after the door handle, which had broken off, and the door opening, Teyla's feet flying through the opening. Sheppard whirled around and, with nothing else available, started fighting her with his own door handle. It was like a cross between fencing and stick-fighting and Rodney watched in fascination before remembering the numbers that still awaited his attention.

Sheppard had managed to get himself between Rodney and Teyla, dueling furiously with the sharp door handle and swearing loudly and often. Teyla was calm and silent as usual, but the nasty look on her face suggested she was enjoying this more than she should.

"Rodney?" Sheppard asked, panting with the effort of holding Teyla off. "How're those numbers coming?"

"I'm trying, but it takes time!" Rodney replied, frustrated with his own inability to go faster.

"Well, no pressure," Sheppard answered, parrying a close call from Teyla's 'sword', "but Teyla's always been better at this crap than me."

As if to prove his point, Teyla managed to get past his defenses and plunged the sharp handle into his chest; Rodney screamed louder than Sheppard. The force of her stab left the door handle stuck firmly in Sheppard's right side, between his fourth and fifth ribs. Sheppard, in an effort to keep his own weapon from the now disarmed Teyla, threw his door handle over Rodney's shoulder into the next room.

"Rodney, _go_," he urged. "Get out of here!"

Quickly going from shocked and frightened to angry, Rodney slammed his fist into Teyla's face as she came at him with what might have been an attempt at a conciliatory smile. She fell backwards but Rodney had no illusions about his ability to disable Teyla. They had only seconds.

"Rodney, what the hell are you doing? Leave!" Sheppard growled as Rodney grabbed him under the armpits.

"No!" Rodney snarled, heaving at the taller man. "I'm not losing someone else, dammit!"

Rodney was through the door, hoping with all he had left in him that it was not trapped, and had Sheppard's torso in the crawlspace when he felt a sudden resistance. Teyla had recovered and had latched on to Sheppard's legs, engaging Rodney in a morbid tug-of-war for Sheppard's life.

Rodney pulled harder, sure he could feel the adrenaline actually coursing through his veins. He knew Sheppard was in incredible pain and weakening quickly – he could hear the colonel hissing and occasionally crying out as the door handle caught and shifted in the small space between the rooms – but he was fighting Teyla, too, kicking as best he could and trying to help Rodney shift his weight through the door.

Rodney had Sheppard almost entirely into the next room, only his feet still in the crawlspace, but Teyla was not giving up. Her hands gripped his legs, claw-like, and her own body was halfway between the rooms. Rodney thought he heard a faint rumbling but didn't take any notice, fully committed to his task, until he felt the floor shaking and had to grab fistfuls of Sheppard's shirt to stay upright.

Teyla didn't notice at first, either, too intent on pulling Sheppard back into her room. Rodney saw the understanding dawn on her face and would never forget her expression as she gave up the fight and tried to scramble into their room, screaming. The resistance on Sheppard's legs finally gone, Rodney tumbled backwards, trying to cushion Sheppard's fall with his body. Rodney landed hard on his back, knocking the wind out of him, Sheppard's torso sprawling across his belly.

Teyla's screams rang in their ears as the rumbling grew louder and the room shook as if in the throes of a violent earthquake. Rodney couldn't see exactly what happened from his position on the floor – really didn't want to see – but had little trouble imagining Teyla's room moving sideways, the doorways of the two rooms sliding out of alignment with her trapped between them. The screams came to an abrupt stop, followed by an extremely unpleasant thud as something fleshy landed on the floor of their room. The rumbling grew quieter and eventually died away and the door shut with a hiss and a clang. Then it was silent except for Sheppard's ragged breathing.

Rodney sat up slowly, his stomach rebelling again at the sight of Teyla's front half lying on the floor. The room was red, so it was difficult to tell exactly how much blood was spread around the room, but Rodney knew it was a lot. Too much. Rodney felt a dam burst somewhere inside him and he began sobbing, hating himself for letting things get this far, letting people get killed. Watching Sheppard's chest – blurry through the tears – rise and fall painfully, Rodney resolved that he would not be responsible for anyone else's death. Sheppard wasn't going to survive much longer without help, but Rodney would be damned if he left him to die like he had Elizabeth. Choking back a sob, Rodney swore he would stay with John until he died if he couldn't carry him out of here.

Rodney wobbled to his feet, setting Sheppard's trunk gently on the floor as he slid out from underneath him. Ignoring his friend's weak question about where he was going, Rodney walked blankly to one of the doors. He had gotten distracted – understatement of the century, he thought dully – by Teyla's rampage and wasn't sure where he was in the Cube anymore. He needed to get his bearings, see how far he and Sheppard were from the edge.

He stumbled, looked down, wondered why the sight of a disembodied human leg didn't upset him more. He supposed he had seen too much death and horror in the last fourteen hours – the last twenty minutes – for much to affect him anymore. When people who had become family to him over the past couple of years had died horribly, he found it hard to be moved by the severed leg of someone he hadn't even met.

A sort of morbid curiosity overtook him, though, and he noticed bloody handprints on the calf as he inspected it closer. Turning to scrutinize the room for the first time since crawling into it, he noticed the bodies. He had landed in the room with his back to them and had been far too occupied with saving Sheppard from Teyla to see them before, though – now he thought about it – he realized there had been an odor in the room since they had arrived. A young woman lay sprawled across the floor door, her blank eyes uncomprehending, as if she couldn't fathom what or who had caused the gaping, bloody hole in her chest. A man was in a similar position next to her, his face pointed away from Rodney, a similar wound in his stomach. Rodney was pretty sure he knew what had caused those wounds and his suspicion was confirmed by the discarded door handle he saw laying between the bodies and the leg. Rodney turned back toward the door, unable to spare any emotion save a vague pity for these unfortunate dead.

Sliding open the door, Rodney leaned in to read the numbers. As he performed the various calculations to get the coordinates, he blinked, not believing what he had just found. He did the math again. His original calculation was confirmed. Excitement, not quite hope, welling within him, Rodney ran to a second door, quickly crunching the numbers and reaching the same conclusion. Unable to contain his thrill, he whooped loudly, startling Sheppard, who had been drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Sheppard!" Rodney called, crouching down next to his friend. "John! Guess what?" He felt the grin stretching his facial muscles strangely, his expression unfamiliar for so many hours.

"…what?" Sheppard managed, his breathing ever more labored. Rodney was almost certain the door handle had pierced his lung and could only hope that leaving it where it was would keep air from leaking into his chest cavity.

Rodney's grin faded in the face of Sheppard's severe injury, but his voice still held his excitement as he announced, "This is the room we came in through. It connects to the outside! I think the next move will take us to the door."

"…great," Sheppard whispered, obviously trying to match Rodney's enthusiasm.

"Just wait, John," Rodney encouraged him. "We'll be out of here in no time."

Confirming his words, the room gave a sudden lurch and barreled sideways before plummeting downwards. Sheppard cried out and Rodney tried to keep him as still as possible in the quaking room, praying that they would make it out in time to get Sheppard medical attention. Suddenly he realized, with a sinking dread, that even if they did make it out, the Grotebroers were unlikely to just let them leave. The facility wasn't likely to be heavily guarded since Rodney doubted many people ever made it out, but it would still be a miracle if they made it to the 'gate unnoticed.

"Fuck it," he growled to himself. "Cross that bridge when we come to it."

The room finally jerked to a stop – punctuated by another yelp from Sheppard – and Rodney, unsure of just how much time they had, hurried to the door. He had to try three before he found the right one. As he slid it open, an impossibly bright light illuminated the room, washing out the red to a pale pink. Teyla's torso was gruesomely floodlighted, as were the splashes of blood throughout the room, both fresh red and dried brown.

Propping open the door with the last boot, he returned to Sheppard's prone form and half-lifted him by the armpits again. It wasn't the most comfortable position for either of them, but Rodney didn't have the strength to lift Sheppard into his arms and the spike through his chest made a fireman's carry impossible. Dragging Sheppard to the door, Rodney figured the best way to get him out was the same way he had gotten him out of the last room. Crawling through himself, he turned around and heaved Sheppard's shoulders into the crawlspace. Praying desperately that the door wouldn't move and do to Sheppard what it had done to Teyla, he kept pulling, trying not to disturb the protruding door handle too much. He had Sheppard completely out but for his knees down when, with a sickening sense of déjà vu, he heard the rumbling start up again. Apologizing profusely, Rodney gave a mighty yank and jerked Sheppard the rest of the way through. He could see the room sliding past Sheppard's feet, brushing them lightly as it rocketed away upward.

"…tickles," Sheppard gasped, struggling to breathe. Rodney looked down at his friend, in so much pain yet still able to make jokes. He hoped he had gotten him out in time. It was then, seeing the ghost of a smile flit across John's face, that Rodney knew.

"We're going to be okay, John," he smiled.


End file.
